


the shadows of each other

by spektri



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spektri/pseuds/spektri
Summary: Seeking a distraction from his destroyed kingdom, Namor visits Bucky.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Namor the Sub-Mariner
Kudos: 2





	the shadows of each other

In just a few hours' time Namor's world had turned from being tolerably murky to pitch black despair. His kingdom was in ruins, his people bleeding on the seabed, and him, incapable of delivering anything but vengeance.

Seeing Wakanda burn didn't lessen the burden of his loss; witnessing T'Challa abandoned by his people gave him hardly the shadow of the joy he used to gain from his enemies' suffering. And try as he might, not all the wine in Atlantis could make him forget, even momentarily, his failings as an emperor.

Between him half-heartedly trying to save their Earth with the Illuminati and attending to his people in what remained of Atlantis, Namor often found himself wandering on land, often in New York, occasionally in other towns he had visited in his lifetime. Although the current state of his kingdom was the result of much more multifaceted situations than simple resentment, Namor had trouble not hating every single air-breather the surface world had spawned for it.

And yet, for a reason he was unwilling to identify, Namor kept craving physical intimacy, specifically human touch—he missed their smell (like pollen and smoke), their cool bodies and soft grasps. If Namor were one to introspection, he might have connected the dots between his self-loathing and this unhealthy want; but but he was not, and he did not.

It took an aimless stroll in an old, familiar neighbourhood for him to wind up in an old safe house courtesy of Sergeant Fury. In there he knew he would find someone capable of scratching away the odious itch, someone who knew something about guilt, loneliness, war. Someone whom he did not entirely _hate_. (Perhaps choosing a paramour he was able to respect showed him still capable of self-preservation.)

The apartment was located into an abandoned building in an empty neighbourhood. The house seemed close to crumbling. It did not make for a permanent residence, but then again, he wasn't going after somebody that could stay still for very long.

Namor easily broke into the deteriorated apartment. He did not feel like waiting in the crumbling hallway for somebody to open a door for him. He sat down on the flea-bitten couch in the middle of the living room and waited for a few seconds until he was looking at a barrel of a gun.

“You should know better than threaten an Atlantean with your man-made firearms, James,” Namor said.

Bucky lowered the gun but didn't let it go and didn't stand down.

“What are you doing here?” It sounded like an accusation. Namor wasn't in the mood for redundant squabbling, though, so he paid no attention to it.

“I am a guest. Show some hospitality. Bring me a drink.”

“You broke my locks, _Subby_. I'm not feeling very hospitable,” Bucky said, gritting his teeth.

“If you rely on _locks_ to keep yourself from being ambushed, you _deserve_ whatever they have planned for you.”

“Could've knocked,” Bucky pointed out. Namor didn't even bother verbally addressing that; he let his brow demonstrate his feelings towards an Atlantean king waiting for an invite to enter instead.

“A _drink_ , James.”

Regardless of whether Bucky had learnt to respect his superiors or was just too tired to argue with Namor, he complied. He didn't turn his back to Namor when disappearing to the kitchen, apparently bracing for a trap for some kind, but when he came back he was laid a bottle of well-seasoned whiskey and two glasses on the sofa table and sat on a chair across Namor.

Namor graciously poured generous portions into both of the glasses, then pushed them both towards Bucky, and drank straight from the bottle. It was good enough, although nothing compared to Atlantean beverages. Few things were.

“Look, I get that things are hectic for you now, but I still want an explanation for why you barge in here with no regard to my cover,” Bucky said.

Namor answered with another swig from the bottle.

“You're not exactly inconspicuous. _I'm_ supposed to be dead,” Bucky continued.

“Ah. Dead. But tell me, how many people are aware of the reality? Please. I'm sure you will be up and running with the rest of your thigh-wearing friends soon enough. This masquerade is nothing but a temporary _phase._ ”

“You know, I'm sympathetic to your struggles and I'm not stupid enough to expect you to give me the same courtesy, but if you came here to screw me over, you're not welcome.”

Namor rolled his eyes.

“I assure you I have no interest in your state of affairs,” Namor said.

“Only in my liquor cabinet.”

“It certainly is no deficit.”

Bucky finally leaned back on his chair, shifting away from his interrogation, and took one of the glasses.

“So, this is what you do now? Break into old friends' places and raid their alcohol?” he asked. Namor was getting tired with his insistence on finding out his hidden agendas. He was just as irritating as he was as a boy.

“ _A_ friend's place,” Namor clarified.

“Bet you say that to all your friends,” Bucky mumbled.

That comment earned Bucky a half-hearted smirk.

Namor finished the bottle in what he felt was companionable silence. The illusion of camaraderie and comfort was slightly ruined by the way Bucky kept staring at Namor as if him being there was nothing less than a miracle; and while Namor usually did not mind being noticed, Bucky's gaze was not appreciative at all.

“You get what you needed?” Bucky asked after a while of continued staring.

“Not yet,” Namor answered.

“Might help if I _knew_ what that was,” Bucky said, obviously growing annoyed by Namor's dodging the question.

“Now where would be the fun in that,” Namor said, his voice flat, devoid of joy.

Bucky groaned, frustrated, and ran his hands over his face. Watching Bucky do that was more enjoyable than indulging him, but not what Namor was after.

“Bring me another drink,” Namor said.

Bucky looked almost resigned, but not enough to keep him from his prattling. “You'd think a bottle of whiskey constitutes as more than one drink,” he said.

“Perhaps if you surface-dwellers knew of quality, it would. But alas. Bring me something, and get your _self_ something as well.” A beat, and then he dryly added, “It will be just like the old days.”

Bucky handed over a bottle of wine. It looked and tasted disgusting, but Namor drank it regardless. 

“So this is a booty call, then,” Bucky said.

Namor coughed inadvertently to his bottle.

“Don't be _crass_ ,” he said, his voice lacking its usual grace.

Bucky made no effort to hide the smirk that he smugly sported.

“'Just like old times', huh?” he asked. He sat down on the couch right next to Namor and didn't once break eye contact. “Like we ever did anything else drunk. Last day of our lives, right?”

“Don't flatter yourself.”

“Come on, Subby. I know you've got that little soft spot for us humans somewhere in there.” Bucky kept leaning in closer. His breath, smelling of whiskey, tickled Namor's skin. “Just admit it.”

“I would annihilate your whole wretched race if I could,” Namor growled.

“You gotta get better at talkin' dirty, Subby. Threatening my race with genocide doesn't do much to get me going.” Bucky's lips nearly touched his earlobe.

“You seem to be going well enough.”

“It's called 'seduction', Subby. Learned it from an old friend. Leading your opponent on to get them to give you what you want.”He gently touched Namor's skin with his tongue

“Spare me.” The impact of Namor's words weakened as Bucky ran his hand along his abdomen towards his belt.

“I know what _you_ want. You know what _I_ want?”

“I am not interested,” Namor said. Bucky didn't seem to care.

“I want you to say _please,_ ” he whispered into his ear.

Namor violently grabbed the hair in the back of Bucky's head and pulled him into a kiss. The kiss was rough, teeth and bones, far from enjoyable in any conventional sense, but then again, whatever pulled Namor to Bucky (and, on occasion, vice versa) was more about need born from fire and destruction and loneliness than it was about convention.

“At least admit that this is what you're here for,” Bucky said the moment they broke free. His hand dug into Namor's pants and stroked him.

Namor answered by wrapping his hand around Bucky's neck and squeezing.

“I could kill you if I wanted to,” he said, before easing his grip. He felt Bucky swallowing and then drawing a careful, long breath.

“Drama queen,” Bucky said.

Namor put his arm around Bucky's waist and stood up, easily lifting Bucky from the ground with him. He used his other hand to pull Bucky into another kiss, this time slower and more deliberate, showcasing that he hadn't forgotten how to please his lovers, even if he chose not to.

“Put me down,” Bucky said in Namor's mouth. Namor released him and let him drop on his feet. “Asshole,” Bucky mumbled.

“Tch,” Namor said, working to unwrap Bucky out of his unnecessary clothes.

Bucky grinned and pulled Namor from his belt, leading him to his bedroom, similarly ramshackle as the rest of his hideout.

Namor slammed Bucky against the wall and closed the distance between their bodies. He inspected Bucky's face; the faint redness that spread on his cheeks, the widened pupils, his glistening lips, his breath hitching when Namor pushed his thumb against his Adam's apple.

Namor kissed him quick and hard, only just resisting the urge to draw blood, before making his way down. He let his teeth scrape light marks on Bucky's skin on the way, and Bucky either didn't mind or didn't show it. Far behind were the days where Namor had treated him like a fragile doll, unwilling to break him and receive the wrath of people he was not interested in fighting with.

Namor did not often end up on his knees servicing human boys, but when he did, he was spectacular. It only took few well-placed licks for Bucky to start gasping for air. While Namor often found this position relatively humiliating, he never failed to be pleased from the noises his lovers made.

He felt Bucky's hands grasping his hair, which made him feel cheap. Admittedly it was exactly what he did when Bucky went down on him, but that was a completely different matter altogether. So he got up and grabbed his wrist and pinned it against the wall and growled,

“Next time you do that, I will rip your arm off and make sure you can't do it ever again. I do not care which one.”

Bucky didn't even blink; he just smirked devilishly. “I know that power trips get you off, but jeez, you gotta work on your temper.”

Namor pushed his leg between Bucky's. “And you need to work on your mouth. You talk all too much.”

Bucky replied with digging his teeth into Namor's collarbone, and then licking his way up his neck.

“Do you have lubrication?” Namor asked.

“ _You're_ the one who came to seek _me_ out,” Bucky pointed out.

“I did no such thing. I was merely in the neighbourhood.”

“Are you fucking serious,” Bucky said.

Namor scoffed and pulled Bucky to eye level with him.

“Do you have it?” Namor repeated.

“Yeah. Wouldn't go without after what happened at the docks.”

“Pfft. To err is human.”

Bucky reached to a drawer and grabbed a bottle that he gave to Namor.

“Easy for you to say. You're not the one who had to live with the consequences.”

Namor pushed Bucky down on his bed with considerably much more power than was strictly needed, but Bucky fell surprisingly smoothly, hoisting himself up on his elbows and watching expressionlessly as Namor shed his clothes.

“'Sides,” he continued as Namor climbed on top of him, “you're not human.”

“Which is why I do not _err_.”

At first, Namor only felt Bucky shaking under him, which felt like an appropriate reaction to being prepared. But in a few seconds laughter erupted from him. 

Namor rolled his eyes, but didn't stop. Instead he used his free hand to cover Bucky's mouth until he calmed down.

“You know,” Bucky said after Namor removed his hand from his face and moved on to bite his neck, “I'm starting to think you have something against me breathing.”

Namor scoffed against Bucky's skin, but offered no other reply. It didn't take long until he felt cold metal pushing on his neck.

He looked at Bucky, whose lips were curled in a malignant half-smile. The mechanical fingers pressed his throat poignantly.

“Not so nice on the receiving end, is it?” Bucky taunted.

“Unhand me, you fool,” Namor said. “Or I will break your precious prosthesis.”

“Maybe. If you stop playing around and fuck me already,” Bucky said.

“Hmph. Impatient,” Namor scoffed. He grabbed both of Bucky's wrists and pinned them above his head, bowing down to whisper, “As you wish,” into Bucky's ear as he pushed inside him.

Bucky made a noise that sounded like a suffocated gasp. Namor couldn't help but smirk at that, which, judging by the way Bucky rushed to clash his mouth against Namor's, Bucky did not appreciate.

He quickly established a rhythm, not bothering to be delicate when he had long ago discovered Bucky to prefer it rough. Bucky's noises and vibrations, to him, were always even more enjoyable than the act itself, so, although he would hardly admit it, he made sure everything he did to make it feel as good to Bucky as possible.

He released Bucky's arms to let him dig his nails into Namor's skin. There was no pain, his skin too strong to be wounded by something as weak, but the pressure of the cold metal on his back felt good. He himself grabbed Bucky's waist hard enough for it to bruise.

It didn't took too long for Bucky to finish, and soon after Namor let himself go as well. They used Bucky's sheets to clean up.

Bucky stayed there, lying on his back, watching while Namor stood up and dressed himself.

“So,” Bucky said. “You find what you were looking for?”

“I did,” Namor answered.

“Which was what?”

Bucky's eyes were hard; this wasn't curiosity, this was an interrogation. It wasn't like Bucky to feel used, he was not that petty; if somebody tried to use him, he would do his best to return the favour. But he also didn't like being left in the dark.

Namor took a moment to decide what, and if, to answer.

Then, before he turned around and went back to the ruins of his kingdom, he allowed Bucky the courtesy of the truth.

“A distraction,” he said, and left.


End file.
